


Ache

by lmeden



Category: The Hour
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For burstoflife.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ache

**Author's Note:**

> For burstoflife.

“You will not believe what I found in the bargain bin!” Freddie crows as he slams Bel’s door behind him. The wood grinds and groans, but he ignores its complaints, darting instead over to the couch she is draped over, jacket unbuttoned, skirt riding high on her leg, hand over her face. 

“Hmm,” she says slowly. “I’m sure I wouldn’t.” Her fingers flutter up to reveal an icepack pressed against the side of her head.

“Oh.” Freddie lowers himself carefully on the arm of the couch, balancing the brown bag of wine under his arm as he lifts her legs and slides down the arm, wedging himself in under her legs. 

There is a slight furrow between her eyes as she watches him. 

“Is it any better?” he asks quietly. 

“No,” she says, her voice just as low, and Freddie suspects she doesn’t want to shake her head for fear of making the headache worse. His mouth twists in sympathy. It was so bad she’d had to leave the station a few hours early, something that had shocked Freddie when he’d heard – so he’d skipped out and picked something up to cheer her. 

Her eyes are slits against the light in the flat, and the ice is melting over her head, turning the hair on the right, no left, no the right side of her head dark. Freddie places the brown bag down, wedging it beside the small pillow beside him. He pats Bel’s ankle and slides forward, pushing her feet off the couch. 

She groans and rises slowly, shoulders hunched and hair curling loosely around her jaw. Freddie reaches out and takes the pack from her, and she curls her fingers in her hair. Cold water drips over his palm and onto the floor, so he darts to the sink and carefully places it within. 

After that, he toes off his loafers, leaving them heel to toe in the middle of the kitchen, and pads around the flat turning off lights, pulling curtains closed. He turns back to Bel and sees her uncurling slightly on the couch, eyes still closed but body not nearly so tense. He moves back to the couch and lowers himself. 

The brown bag crinkles beside him and he pulls it out from the cushions. 

“What did you find, then?” Bel’s voice is quiet, her head tilted back to expose the line of her throat, and her eyes are closed. Freddie blinks at her, then tears his gaze away. 

He snatches the bag from the wine bottle and tosses it aside, turning the bottle so that the label faces towards him, and reads triumphantly, “ _Chateau Lafite Rothschild!_ ”

Bel’s eyes open then, and she rolls her head to the side to squint at the label. “Impossible. That’s one of the most…”

“Expensive wines in the world, yes. Don’t insult your own intelligence by pretending to disbelieve me, Bel, it isn’t flattering.”

“I think my doubt is perfectly—“

He cuts her off again. “Of course it’s valid, but this is _Rothschild_ ,” he hisses, and leans forward to grab the corkscrew he picked up in the kitchen. 

Bel is quiet as the bottle opens with a soft pop and Freddie pours out two glasses. He turns to hand her a glass and she sits slowly up, her grip on the thin stem deliberate. 

“I have heard,” he begins as she lifts the wine to her lips. Bel stops and sends him a weary, barely-patient glance. He continues. “That a good wine can cure anything.”

Her lips twist slightly and she lifts the glass. “Well, here’s to that,” she says, sounding already stronger, and takes a sip. Freddie glances to see if her lips have been stained darker before drinking his own.

He sinks back into the cushions, considers turning on the radio before scrapping the idea. Too loud. He’s sure that the wine will help Bel relax and ease her headache, but until then they’ll just have to stay quiet in the dimness and keep the wine nearby. He props his feet on the coffee table and prods the wine bottle with his toe. 

“Stop that,” Bel whispers, and Freddie is surprised hear her voice from right beside him. She has shifted closer, so that their shoulders are almost touching. Her wine glass is low, cradled in her lap. 

Slowly, she places her head on his shoulder and sighs. Freddie relaxes and lets his cheek shift to rest against her hair. She smells wonderful. He closes his eyes and lifts his glass, sips his wine, smiling around the rim.


End file.
